


Irreverence

by a_dangerous_sociopath



Series: Emperor's New Clothes [3]
Category: Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Actual Character Death, Blasphemy, Catholic Imagery, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied Character Death, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, References to Past Underage Sex, Torture, but smut nonetheless, hey someone's probably into it, incredibly uncomfortable smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:59:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7366489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_dangerous_sociopath/pseuds/a_dangerous_sociopath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some time after the events in Destructible Heroes, Kenshi is woken up in the middle of the night by news no parent should ever have to receive. But things aren't as cut and dry as they appear to be, and Kenshi is soon presented with a new target for his rage: an immortal scoundrel named Erron Black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I began to write this as a way to work out some of my own issues, and then it kind of blew up into a monster. At first I was like, 'eh, this is just going to be a monster of a one shot.' Then I was like, 'this is going to need to be at least two chapters.' Now it's beginning to look like four chapters and I'm just going to go ahead and give up on hope, if that's okay with everyone.
> 
> Also to be clear, I'm tagging ahead of time for things that may or may not be in the final cut. Such as the projected 'questionable dub-con' scene, that may or may not make it to the final cut, I honestly haven't decided yet. But hey, it's been like, three years since I've written anything purely to shock people, I may as well give it another go.

  
It hit him hard, in the middle of the night. Kenshi woke up, gasping, feeling it like a vice around his chest, this overwhelming feeling of dread. It felt like what he imagined a heart attack would, but there was something different to it, less physical, and more consuming of his faculties. 

 

Something had happened; he just didn't know what yet.

 

He tried to roll over, very gingerly, moving slow as the pain gripped his chest. It squeezed his heart, causing it to beat faster, flaring with pain with every unnecessary movement. Weakly, he placed a hand on Hanzo's arm, using the other man as leverage as he pulled himself into a more or less upright position. Beside him, Hanzo stirred at the light touches.

 

Kenshi placed a hand over his chest, gripping the light shirt he was sleeping in tightly, as he attempted to find his bearings. He breathed in, out again, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating, to stay calm as he worked through the pain.

 

"What's wrong?" 

 

Kenshi relaxed, only marginally, when he heard Hanzo moving behind him. The other man placed a warm hand on his back, as he moved in close, the other seeking purchase as it rested against his shoulder. "Kenshi?"

 

Just having Hanzo close seemed to help and he moved to settle against the other man's chest. "I don't know. Something happened, I can't..."

 

It was strange, this bout of pain and terror coming on him so suddenly. He'd only felt it a few times before. The first time, shortly after Suchin had died, and after that, the few times Takeda had crossed over into one of the other realms. He'd learned to cope with it, but there was always some pain whenever he felt his son out of reach. Takeda never felt it quite as sharply as his father did, though he agreed that there was something, some kind of unpleasant ache that sat deep in his chest. Kenshi wondered if it was the nature of their relationship that made the pain so much worse for Kenshi, but it was something he figured he'd never find an answer to. His ancestors, trapped within Sento, were rather singularly unhelpful when it came to questions like that. All those voices chiming in at once, with their own, often competing theories were less than helpful.

 

It hardly mattered, anyways, because all Kenshi knew, all he understood was his son was gone, and he knew Takeda didn't have any upcoming missions in Outworld, so something was clearly wrong.

 

Concerned, Hanzo began to look him over, only to be interrupted by the sound of Kenshi's phone ringing. Hanzo paused, his grip on Kenshi tightening for a brief moment in his concern. But Kenshi shook his head, trying to calm himself.

 

"Would you get that for me?" Kenshi asked Hanzo, voice coming out as a wheeze, his body trembling, now, and he half suspected he wouldn't make it to the satellite phone if he tried it himself right then. "I get the feeling it's important."

 

"Can't it wait?" Hanzo demanded, as he raised a hand to place it over Kenshi's forehead, checking for a fever. Which was sweet, but Kenshi had an awful idea that he knew what was wrong.

 

"I don't think so." Kenshi replied, making an attempt at swallowing. His mouth felt dry, like he hadn't had a drink in days, and that made things difficult. "I think it's related to this." He told Hanzo. "Please..."

 

Hanzo stared at him for a long moment, clearly unwilling to leave his side, even for just a moment to take this phone call. Eventually, though, he seemed to come to the conclusion that Kenshi wouldn't let him continue to check him over until he took the call, and deep down Kenshi realized that was fairly accurate. Hanzo moved out of bed to grab Kenshi's phone.

 

Hanzo was the one who actually took the call. He was the first to receive the somber news. He hung up the call with a dire warning on the other end.

 

"Don't let him out of your sight." Sonya warned him. "We don't have all the info yet; we're still working on it. But this might have been a set up to draw one of us out. Don't leave him alone."

 

Then, just like that, Sonya hung up to be with her daughter, who'd also been hit in the ambush.

 

As it turned out, Hanzo didn't need to say anything to Kenshi. The man didn't move, sitting quietly for a moment, his head turned towards the side, facing away from him. He seemed to be sitting there, relaxed, but for the tell-tale sign of his hand tightly gripping the sheets. He was far more tensed than he looked.

 

"He's... Gone, isn't he?" Kenshi asked, referring to his son.

 

"They don't have all the information yet." Hanzo told him quietly, not wanting Kenshi to get ahead of himself. "Everything is confused; they don't know whose body they found..."

 

"I'll find out." Kenshi replied, sharply, as he moved to get out of bed.

 

Hanzo thought of Sonya's warning, thought about how this might have been a lure, a trap to draw out an emotional, heartbroken parent, and he moved to stop the other man instantly. 

 

"No." He said, taking Kenshi's arm, drawing the other man up short. Kenshi growled, giving Hanzo a push for his efforts.

 

"Don't you DARE try to stop me." He warned, and Hanzo was momentarily overwhelmed, breath stolen by the force of Kenshi's telepathic bleed.  It was dizzying, the harsh feelings of sadness and rage, nearly sending Hanzo to his knees. Kenshi was usually fairly good about keeping his emotions and thoughts to himself. When he was hurt or upset, it was a far different matter, a rare downside to dating the telepath. 

 

"I'm not letting you leave, Kenshi." Hanzo warned the other man, voice stern. "Sonya seems to think this is a trap. If I let you go out there like this..."

 

"Like what?!" Kenshi demanded, angrily, and the fury in his voice reverberated around the room like a small, nuclear blast. Windows rattled and shattered, books fell off of their shelves. Hanzo's skin prickled all over, as if the man had physically slapped him, and Kenshi hadn't moved at all.

 

Hanzo placed a hand in front of him, placating, but ready to move should things escalate. "Calm down."

 

"He's my son!" Kenshi shouted, his voice cracking somewhat, as his pain and desperation got the better of him. "I'm not going to calm down; I'm going to find him."

 

"You can't do that." Hanzo continued, as he moved to breech the distance between them. "And I'm not letting you leave."

 

"You're going to have to fight me." Kenshi warned him then, and it was ridiculous, Hanzo thought to himself, that the man could look intimidating without his armor, standing before him in a light gray shirt and a pair of briefs.

 

"I would prefer not to." Hanzo admitted, looking to Kenshi. "Don't make me do this."

 

"I'm not making you do anything." Kenshi sneered. Actually sneered at him. Kenshi didn't sneer at anyone, he was usually too Zen. Usually.

 

Hanzo moved in close, invading Kenshi's personal space, inviting him to make a move. Kenshi hesitated for a moment, just briefly. Just long enough for him to remember that this was Hanzo, and he didn't want to do anything that would hurt Hanzo. But then he remember that his son, his child was out there, somewhere, broken an bleeding or dead for all he knew and Kenshi's rage overtook him again. 

 

He shoved Hanzo back. Hanzo took the push with ease, moving forward in a rush, and grabbed Kenshi by the throat, shoving him up against the wall, pinning him there. A gasp escaped Kenshi as he hit the wall, and Hanzo crowded him against it, quickly grabbing both of the man's wrists and forcing them back over his head. He pressed against him, using his body weight, which certainly out matched Kenshi's to try and keep him there. Kenshi practically howled in his rage, bucking up against the other man to try and dislodge him. The way he was fighting him, Hanzo knew he wouldn't be able to keep a hold on Kenshi for long. He'd have to do something else.

 

Hanzo didn't often teleport with a person in tow, as it never seemed to sit well with the poor traveler afterwards. It sat well with Kenshi not at all. Between the two of them, they never quite figured out why, but their best guess was that Hanzo was never meant to use this power with someone else tagging along. At least… not while they were living.

 

Kenshi only extremely rarely allowed Hanzo to teleport with him, after the first disastrous time it happened. Hanzo had taken a beaten-up, unconscious Kenshi with him in order to protect him, and Kenshi woke up disoriented, his balance shot. He'd had trouble for days after, unable to access his telepathy to help himself, and cut off from communicating with Sento for guidance. Kenshi had been thoroughly miserable until he recovered, which ensured that Hanzo was thoroughly miserable until Kenshi recovered, if only because the bitching was non-stop.

 

All of this was the reason why Hanzo was incredibly hesitant to do this...

 

But Kenshi was beside himself with rage, heartbroken from his grief. He wasn't thinking rationally, lashing out at the one he loved. It wasn't that his grief wasn't justified, and Hanzo certainly shared in his despair. But Hanzo didn't only have Takeda to worry over; he had the rest of his clan, and Kenshi. If he got away from Hanzo right now, he'd be putting himself into danger. He could share the same fate as his son, or worse. 

 

That's why he waited, saving this trick until he was absolutely certain there was nothing else he could do. Hoping he could reach Kenshi before he could do something dire, to calm him down and help him to find his center.

 

Kenshi finally twisted again, hard, breaking Hanzo's grip on him and moving to get away. He shoved Hanzo, hard, both hands hitting him squarely in the chest, his telepathy driving him much further back with its strength. He crashed hard into a concrete wall, feeling it crack behind his back and rain particles and chunks of the wall onto him. Hanzo let out a pained grunt, the air being forced out of his lungs, as he fell to the floor. It took him a moment to clear his head after the hit, for the room to stop spinning and for him to see clearly. Kenshi turned from him, moving to grab his things and leave. Leaving himself open, something he would never have done if he'd been in his right mind.

 

Hanzo quickly shook off the dizziness, and leapt forward and grabbed the hem of his shirt, yanking Kenshi back, wrapping an arm around the other man's waist, and holding him tightly. Kenshi didn't even have time to properly struggle, or throw him off. Hanzo summoned his fire and sent them both hurtling through the aether. They landed first in the outskirts of Shisuta. That alone might have been enough to wind Kenshi, but he had to be sure that the man couldn't get away from him. He gave Kenshi only a second to catch his breath, before teleporting them again, outside a bar in Memphis, where the two of them had kissed and licked each other's wounds after a particularly intense bar fight Kenshi had dragged him into. By now, Kenshi was already trembling in his arms, shaking, the effect of moving through time and space so quickly already taking its toll. The other man let out a whimper, and tried to turn in his grasp. Hanzo wouldn't allow it, as he tightened his grip on the other man, shooting the both of them to a dark alley in Shanghai, where he and Kenshi had once fought for their lives against the Black Dragon. Memories, places that stuck out in the brief seconds of Hanzo's mind, before he whisked Kenshi off again. By now the man had slumped against him, thoroughly depending on Hanzo for support. Hanzo allowed him to move this time, allowing Kenshi to turn and brace himself against his chest. Kenshi weakly placed an arm around Hanzo's neck, trying to get a secured grip on him for the final leg of their journey. 

 

Deciding he'd had enough, he finally returned home, Kenshi safe and still in his arms. 

 

Kenshi didn't move for a few moments, or even make a sound. That wasn't exactly what Hanzo was expecting. He thought that Kenshi might turn and hit him, yell at him, anything. This strange silence emanating from him was... Well, bizarre. Curious, Hanzo began to gently, gingerly pull Kenshi back, trying to get a good look at him. And as he worried, he realized exactly what kind of harm that process had done to the other man. Kenshi's skin was pale, ashen. His limbs trembled, weakly. Even his lips appeared white. Kenshi didn't make it more than a few centimeters before abruptly passing out in Hanzo's arms.

 

Hanzo caught the other man, stunned. Kenshi had never had a good reaction to teleporting with him... It always screwed up his equilibrium, and made it difficult for him to access his power. But he'd never seen him pass out before... This was a new reaction from him, and he wondered if perhaps he'd overdone it. He'd wanted to make damn sure that Kenshi couldn't leave him... He didn't think the process would put so much stress on him.

 

Carefully, Hanzo moved to pick Kenshi up, holding him against his chest, and carrying him over to the bed, all the while, all he could think of was how he had done this to him. He'd done the one thing he'd promised himself he'd never do... He'd harmed Kenshi. 

 

~

 

Kenshi kind of felt like he was floating. That was a little silly, of course. He knew that Hanzo was likely bracing him; the other man would never have allowed him to fall. He felt so tired, out of it. He could hardly move. It drained him even to draw breath. His stomach roiled, ready to spill up its meager contents. He didn't understand, he'd never felt this terrible after riding along with Hanzo before, never felt so weak and fragile.

 

And, speaking of Hanzo, he was kind of pissed at the other man. 

 

He placed a hand against the other man's shoulder, giving a slight push. "Put me down." He requested, and he couldn't help the wince he gave at the sound of his own voice. He'd wanted to sound angry, as angry as he felt, but instead he just came off as tired. Weak. He knew he didn't have the strength within himself to stand on his own, but in that moment he didn't care. He just desperately wanted to put some distance between himself and Hanzo.

 

The man took great care with him, placing him gently on the bed. He didn't move away, though, hovering awkwardly nearby. Kenshi understood that it was probably for his own benefit that Hanzo keep close to him, even if he just wanted the man to leave. Kenshi wasn't moving under his own power for a while. The effect of the teleportation had seen to that. He was cut off, adrift in darkness.

 

And the one person who had done this to him, the one person in the world he thought he could trust...

 

"Why?" He asked, cracking with emotion despite himself.

 

He could hear Hanzo shifting uneasily beside him, letting out a soft sigh. He could feel the bed dip down as the other man must have taken a seat beside him, and, despite the fact that a part of Kenshi reeled at being anywhere near this man right now... He allowed it. Because despite everything, despite the rage and grief tearing at him right then he still loves this man, still needed him. He didn't think he could ever ignore that side of himself, despite being hurt so grievously by him.

 

After a long moment that stretched out thick and heavy between them, Hanzo began to speak.

 

"Kenshi, you know I love you." He said softly. "You and Takeda mean nothing less than the world to me. My heart aches for Takeda's loss. He was like a son to me; he filled a hole in my heart that sat empty for far too long."

 

He could hear Hanzo sigh, shift restlessly as he continued to try and explain. 

 

"I would like nothing more than to go out there, find whoever did this, and tear his heart from his chest." Hanzo said, his voice growing dark, and Kenshi was caught almost off-guard by the rage in the man's voice. 

 

"But I know, until I get more information, any such action would be pointless." He said. Kenshi continued to listen, hearing Hanzo continue to shift. He heard when the other man reached out, placing a hand against his shoulder. 

 

"I would not lose you as well, to such pointless endeavor. I love you, Kenshi; I will not stand to lose you and Takeda both in the same day."

 

And that hit something hard in Kenshi, something that knocked loose the rage in his chest and replaced it with a searing, heavy emptiness, a hollow sadness that seemed to grow. It spread out from his heart into his limbs, sitting heavy in his stomach, weighting his arms and legs, leaving them a shaking, tingling mess. 

 

In the face of the anger he was almost certain he should still be feeling Kenshi reached out to Hanzo, silently beckoning the other man closer. He didn't have to ask, he immediately found his arms full, Hanzo huge and muscular and half on top of him as the other man squeezes, his arms sliding around Kenshi and holding him tight and close. He's sinking in where Hanzo's weight forces the mattress down, but Kenshi doesn't even care, he just needed this man, needed him close, needed to feel him so that he knows he's still here, not sinking away in the darkness and despair.

 

Kenshi didn't dare say anything for a moment, feeling too exposed, his world too shattered to dare trust himself. He's too choked up, air too hard to find, and he finds himself unnaturally silent. 

 

Hanzo shifted beside him, tugging the man in to bury his face in his shoulder, and all of Kenshi's emotion, usually held back by a wall of unyielding strength, suddenly crumbled and escaped him in a rush. He let out a sound, half shuddering gasp and half heartbroken sob. They laid there together after, for the better part of an hour, as Kenshi screamed and cried and cursed the world and himself, digging his fingers into Hanzo's back. Hanzo held him through all of it, completely silent, just listening to Kenshi's anger and grief as it bled out of him. Hanzo held onto him until the sniffles and whimpers had died out, and Kenshi was finally silent. After that, after everything, Kenshi laid there in misery, heart still broken, but too exhausted to do anything else. He simply drifted for a while, letting Hanzo's arms around him keep him grounded, while he reflected on his pain. 

 

Finally, the other man began to move. Slowly, carefully, Hanzo twisted the both of them around, into a more comfortable position. Hanzo laid on his side, facing Kenshi, Kenshi's back pressed up against his chest. One of Hanzo's arms slid underneath him, finding its place in the small indent between hipbone and waist. The other arm crossed over Kenshi's chest, gripping his shoulder. Caging him in, Kenshi noted, like he still needed to worry that he would try to escape. Kenshi knew better. This strange, floating feeling that clouded his mind was a result of the teleportation. Even if he wanted to, Kenshi knew he'd have a hard time walking, finding his way. He was powerless and defenseless. No, Kenshi was going nowhere for at least a day, maybe more, because of how hard this was hitting him. He was going to be very reliant on Hanzo, and that knowledge kind of galled him. 

 

He felt Hanzo shifting behind him, before gently drawing him backwards, and Kenshi allowed it, helpless in that moment to do anything else. He felt, for a moment, his irritation creeping up again, but he quickly quashed it, knowing it would do him no good. His emotions were clouded, battling each other for dominance, and he didn't know whether to give credence to his anger, his sadness, or his desperate need to have Hanzo nearby. 

 

In the end, it was the last one that won out, as Hanzo's lips found the back of his neck, kissing him gently, just under the hairline, the man's beard scratching at his skin, and it felt so, so good. 

 

"He might not be dead." Hanzo said then, softly, and Kenshi stiffened to hear it. 

 

"The ache I felt before the call says otherwise." Kenshi replied, his hand absently drifting to his chest as he remembered that terrible pain. 

 

Hanzo sighed softly behind him. The hand resting over his chest began to draw small, soothing circles onto Kenshi's chest. 

 

"You don't know that for sure." Hanzo told him firmly. "But even if he is... You have me to lean on." 

 

Kenshi stayed quiet for a moment. Hanzo's lips found his neck again, leaving a series of kisses that moved from there to his ear. He let a sigh escaped him, finding himself begin to relax despite everything. 

 

"I love you." Hanzo whispered, as the various touches he was leaving against his body were quickly taking effect, lulling Kenshi into a much more calm state. 

 

"I love you too." Kenshi replied with a small sigh, as his anger continued to fade. What would he have done without Hanzo, here to protect him during this abysmal time? Probably walked out into danger, and gotten himself killed. He was able to admit that to himself now.  "Sorry about your wall."

 

"It can be replaced." Hanzo told him quietly. "I'd have a much more difficult time continuing on without you."

 

They continued to lay there in silence after that, not much more needing to be said. It didn't take long for Kenshi to drift off into sleep, curled up in Hanzo's arms. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes off a bit cringey to me, but I'm also using it to advance the plot. So it's not the greatest, be forewarned. Also the topic for most of this is why I went back and added in all of those other nasty tags, so please heed them if you feel you might be triggered by something.

Hanzo hadn't taken his hands off of him since they arrived at the SF base in Sacramento. Kenshi knew it was probably for the best, as he'd never really recovered from their 'argument' a day or so before. Kenshi's powers had only returned to him in the weakest sense. He was still very off center, and still felt very weak. Having his arm clutched in Hanzo's was probably just practical. But Kenshi couldn't help feeling some of the nerves edging off of his lover, like smoke escaping a burning ember. After all, this was the first time in several years that Hanzo had been to an SF base, and the last time, well, things hadn't ended so cleanly...

 

Hanzo wouldn't have been there at all if it hadn't been for how somber the occasion was. This wasn't something he ever wanted Kenshi to face alone, even if he had been at his full strength. They were there to collect what little of his son's belongings were there, and listen in on a briefing of the most current information they had on Takeda's whereabouts.

 

As soon as they arrived, a young, female cadet show them to the small quarters Takeda had occupied with his team-mate Kung Jin, and afterwards she solemnly left them to their own devices. The air in the room was heavy with loss, nearly suffocating them in it. Hanzo kept Kenshi close, one of his arms snaking around his waist in support as he led the other man over to Takeda's neatly made cot and gently set him upon it. With Kenshi more or less settled, he took a single step back, hovering close by in case Kenshi needed him. It was all bordering on excessive, in Kenshi's opinion, but Hanzo was suffering from a great loss too, he reminded himself. Maybe he needed to do this less for Kenshi's benefit, and more for his own comfort. Kenshi found he could indulge him in that.

 

"Supposedly, they're going to come get us when they're ready." Hanzo remarked, and Kenshi had the vague feeling that Hanzo was simply commenting to try and distract from the how miserable the situation was, otherwise there'd be no point in telling him something he already knew. Hanzo wasn't someone who did things without purpose, and if the man had no opinion on a topic or found a matter unimportant he was more than happy to let the room fill with silence, awkward or not. Kenshi had grown accustomed to it over the years.

 

Kenshi simply nodded as he shifted back, making himself comfortable. He was getting such an odd feeling from the base at large. There was sadness, naturally. Anger. But there was something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

 

Kenshi moved to place his hand back against the mattress, attempting to beckon Hanzo to sit beside him, only for his hand to land upon a cold, metal box. And well, that told him the current state of his senses if he couldn't pick up that the damn thing was sitting there, yet. Curious, He moved to pick it up, pulling the surprisingly heavy box in his lap. Immediately, he picked up a variety of past emotions from it, so strong that he knew right away that its contents had once upset his son in some way. It was bizarre, to him, that Takeda would choose to hold onto something that had clearly caused him great emotional turmoil.

 

Kenshi turned over the undecorated steel box in his hands. As he did so he heard Hanzo come close, moving to kneel down in front of him, one warm hand pressing gently against his knee in concern.

 

"What is it?" He asked him, and Kenshi appreciated Hanzo's sixth sense for knowing when something was wrong with his lover.

 

Kenshi shook his head, softly, as he searched out the clasp that would open the box. "I'm not sure." He said, simply. Before long, he had found the clasp and worked the box open.

 

He heard Hanzo gasp. That in itself was strange, because nothing ever caught his lover off guard like that. Confused, Kenshi reached inside, his fingers quickly brushing against the contents...

 

And found a small, neatly stacked pile of pictures. Polaroids, he realized after he noted the shape and thickness. It wasn't the photos themselves that got that reaction out of Hanzo; it had to be what was being depicted in them. He reached in, grabbed a handful...

 

"Kenshi, don't..." Hanzo grabbed his wrist, and the Polaroids in his hands spilled out of the box, some landing on the bed, spreading out across his lap, and some on the ground.

 

They both froze in that position for a moment, Hanzo in silent shock, taking in the images as they fell, and Kenshi, as he worriedly began to realize what must have been on those pictures. He could get the vaguest impressions of it from Hanzo's mind, but the full picture escaped him.

 

"Hanzo..." Kenshi said. His voice soft, as he gently clenched the fist that was caught in Hanzo's hand. "I need you to be my eyes. You need to tell me what is on those photographs."

 

"No." Hanzo told him firmly. Kenshi tilted his head to the side, seeming to consider, for a moment, arguing with Hanzo, but the other man moved in, gently tugging Kenshi forward and into his arms. Kenshi bemusedly slid forward, off of the bed and allowed Hanzo to hold him, and the embrace was strangely protective, one arm snaking around his waist, and the other finding purchase against his neck, so that Hanzo's fingers could find their way into his hair. He was being very careful with him, treating him very delicately, but underneath it was a simmering, roiling rage that was just barely tampered down, held down by Hanzo himself. He seemed to think that Kenshi needed him, right then, needed his protection, his strength. Kenshi wanted to protest, he was a grown man after all, until a glimmer of a thought mistakenly came Kenshi's way.

 

Time seemed to come to a screaming halt. A loud, ringing noise filled Kenshi's ears, flooding out his own thoughts, nearly drowning out Hanzo's. A burst of psychic energy escaped him, a gust that shook the room, and as Hanzo gripped him tighter, he slowly came to a terrifying realization.

 

One year ago, Kenshi had spent several hours as Erron Black's prisoner. He'd been knocked out, and heavily sedated. Kenshi woke up some time later, beaten, injured in odd areas, but he had been fine, he thought. He couldn't remember his time with Black, but it didn't seem to matter at the time.

 

He had been okay. He was hurt, but he had survived. Surely, had Erron the chance he could have done worse to him, but he had no idea what had happened during those missing hours.

 

Kenshi knew now. He knew exactly what was on those pictures.

 

And Erron Black, for reasons unknown to him, had sent those pictures to _his son_.

 

It took him a moment to realize that his body had begun to shake terribly. He felt numb, all over, and light headed. He felt disconnected from his body, as though his spirit was moving away from his physical form. He gripped tightly onto Hanzo's armor as the world began to spin, desperately trying to keep himself grounded, feeling himself sink down lower. Quickly he found himself entirely dependent on the other man to keep him upright.

 

In a way, passing out right then was a blessing. It led him to eight, blissful minutes where he wouldn't have to deal with the fact that Erron Black had raped him.

 

~

 

Sonya cringed when she entered the room, quickly putting two and two together.

 

Kenshi was lying sprawled out against the cot, the incriminating pictures she and her team had found before had scattered, some falling to the floor, others on the bed that Kenshi was strewn upon. The man was asleep... Or unconscious. From the way Hanzo was fretting over him she assumed the latter. Hanzo was sitting on the edge of the cot, which seriously didn't look like it was meant to hold two men, gently tapping Kenshi's cheek, running his hands through his hair, trying to encourage him to wake up. Kenshi must have realized what was on the pictures and passed out. She could have hardly blamed him. He was dealing with a lot right now... That was just another thing on his already heavy soul.

 

Hanzo and Kenshi were never supposed to see those pictures. As an initial part of her investigation, Sonya had come through Takeda and Jin's room and went through everything, hoping to find some clue as to what provoked the attack. She'd seen the box and its contents and wanted it taken and sealed as evidence. Then, after Hanzo and Kenshi had arrived, she'd planned to find a nice, calming place to tell them about the box's contents. Somehow, someone missed that part of her plan and left the box there with the rest of Takeda's belongings.

 

That was infuriating.

 

Hanzo glanced up as Sonya entered the room, moving to take a seat on the opposite bunk. He gave her the briefest of glares, before turning his attention back to Kenshi. Dismissed, just like that. There'd always been some bad blood between them, ever since he'd kidnapped Kenshi all those years ago. He didn't like her but was usually quietly ambivalent to her presence. She in turn made it no secret that she didn't care for him, but tolerated his presence when they needed his help. Then there was Kenshi, the poor man caught between the two of them, who loved both of them dearly and steadfastly refused to pick between them.

 

For Kenshi's sake, they tolerated each other. For the most part, at any rate.

 

Still... She did feel bad about the way those photos were discovered. And for all of Hanzo's irritation, she at least knew that he cared for Kenshi almost as much as she did. If Hanzo was trying to take care of Kenshi, she couldn't let her personal distaste for him color her actions. She gently cleared her throat, getting Hanzo's attention again.

 

"Sorry." She whispered, looking to the other man. "You guys weren't meant to see that." She said, gesturing to the photos.

 

The other man was silent for a long moment.

 

"You didn't want us to see this?" Hanzo asked, and Sonya could hear the edge of Hanzo's anger creeping in. "So you were going to hide from us what was done..."

 

"No!" Sonya cut him off right away, because no, that wasn't her intention. Not at all. "I just didn't want you to find out like that. I wanted to tell you guys in neutral territory. Someplace calmer than the base. You wouldn't even have had to see the pictures if you didn't want." She sighed.

 

"I wanted them to be sealed off and booked into evidence by the time you got here; you weren't supposed to find them like this." She continued.

 

Hanzo simply stated at her. "You were going to soften the blow." He gently released Kenshi in order to pick up one of the pictures. "For something like this?" He questioned her.

 

"Well, how would you have done it?" Sonya demanded. "He still needs to know what happened."

 

Hanzo just sighed. He didn't know for himself how he would have approached it. All he knew in that moment was that Kenshi was hurting. The pain of not knowing what happened to his son, suspecting that he could be dead and now they come here to find... this atrocity. Hanzo was beyond angry. His fingers twitched with the need to kill that man. The only thing that stopped him from doing just that was the knowledge that Kenshi would likely prefer to avenge himself.

 

Hanzo remembered that day, finding Kenshi after Erron Black had taken him. Kenshi had sunk into his arms, shaking, covered in sweat, still a little out of it from the drugs he'd been forced to take. At first glance, Hanzo saw no serious injuries on the man. Black had treated Kenshi roughly, that much was certain, but there was no other obvious damage done to him, and Kenshi couldn't recall much of anything. He insisted that he was alright, though, and Hanzo believed him.

 

He had been a fool; this was Kenshi they were talking about. He should have been more thorough, insisted on checking him out right there. But, there just hadn't seemed time, and by the end of the day, Kenshi had been hurt far more seriously than those few bruises, so his earlier injuries were forgotten.

 

"I don't know." Hanzo said quietly. He reached out again, sliding his fingers into those brown locks. "I just want to spare him anymore pain."

 

"We can't do that." Sonya whispered, softly. "All we can do is try to help him through this."

 

On the bed, Kenshi made a soft sound. At once, he had the attention of both occupants in the room. Hanzo moved to lean over the other man, while Sonya busied herself gathering the pictures, slipping them back into the box. She didn't want Kenshi having to deal with that right now. Some of the images were... Well. If she didn't already have a reason to want to kill the man, she certainly did now. Seeing his smiling face as he did unspeakable things to her unconscious friend. There was just so much she didn't understand about all this. Why would Black target Kenshi? Why would he send the pictures to Takeda? Why Takeda would keep them, much less keep their contents to himself? None of it made any sense, and it wasn't like Takeda was going to be giving them answers anytime soon.

 

By the time Sonya had the pictures tucked away and hidden once more, Kenshi was already trying to sit up, fighting against Hanzo's gentle suggestion that he ought to stay still for the moment. Hanzo eventually gave up, allowing the other man to sit beside him, practically curled into his side. Kenshi had placed a hand over his forehead, his free arm curled around one of Hanzo's biceps as he seemed to try and get his bearings.

 

"Kenshi?" She called out to him gently.

 

Kenshi gently peeled his hand away from his forehead, offering Sonya a half-hearted wave. He clearly wasn't in the mood to talk, so she decided not to push him. "Is there anything I can do?" She asked him worriedly.

 

Kenshi was silent, for a moment, before finally shaking his head. "I just want to be alone, for now." He said, in a voice that was uncharacteristically small. It hurt Sonya's heart to hear it. "Both of you please."

 

At that, Hanzo seemed about to protest, but before he could get a word out, Kenshi pressed a finger to his lips and shushed him.

 

"Honey." Kenshi said, voice very sweet. "If you're about to suggest anything else, I'm going to become very, _very angry with you."_

 

That seemed to be the end of that. Before long both Sonya and Hanzo were standing in the hallway outside, as the door slammed shut behind them. Of course, being alone in a room, or hallway, or anything with Hanzo was kind of at the bottom of her list of wants, so without further preamble she turned and began to walk away. She didn't particularly care what he did, and the idea that he'd hover awkwardly in front of the door to that room like a lost puppy was kind of amusing to her. So she continued down the hallway, pulling out her phone and running through the long list of recent text messages. There was only one she cared about.

_Johnny - 10:23 AM - going under now, hon. I love you._

 

Sonya frowned at the message sadly, before closing her texts. She didn't need to reply yet, it would be hours before he could contact her again.

 

When she looked up again, she noticed a young cadet staring at her, clearly waiting for her to be finished before she spoke up.

 

"Sir?" The girl started. "The team just arrived with the body... There was a mistake."

 

"A mistake?" Sonya asked her. "What do you mean?"

 

The girl seemed to look at something behind Sonya for a moment, before looking back to her CO. "I don't know what happened, but the body they brought us... It wasn't Takeda." She said, her voice seeming to grow quieter as she imparted this information.

 

"What?"

 

Sonya was startled to suddenly have Hanzo's hand on her shoulder, gently nudging her aside so that he could question the cadet. "Then where is he?"

 

The girl looked startled, despite having clearly seen him coming. Hanzo was scary without even trying. She glanced between him and Sonya, as if she wasn't sure whether or not to continue. Sonya, while annoyed, understood that Hanzo was just as concerned as the rest of them, and stood to lose the family that was very dear to him. Honestly, Sonya knew, she was in the exact same position as he was. So she motioned for the cadet to continue.

 

"Well, that's the thing, sir." The cadet answered, looking to her superior rather than Hanzo. "We don't know."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wherein all those scary tags I added begin to really come into play. If you need to skip a chapter because of something I tagged up there, this would be the one.
> 
> I may have more to say about this story and its progress eventually. I just don't feel up to it tonight.

 

The first time Takeda had sex with Erron Black, he was fourteen. It had also been the first day they had met. Takeda had run into him in the outskirts of Shirai Ryu territory, and he had ordered him to leave. Somehow, they went from that stand off to Takeda lying face first across Black's poncho, his wrists tied behind his back, as Erron fucked him into the ground. The whole thing happened in a whirl, and Takeda still had trouble piecing together how they'd gotten into that position. At the time, he thought he had enjoyed it, even when he had limped back to his quarters, and could hardly move the next day.  He'd had a hard time explaining that one to the grandmaster, but Hanzo had left him be to recuperate.

 

The next time was a few months later. Erron had cornered him up against a wall. He'd forced him to suck his dick, then placed him up against the wall and fucked him again, using his spit for lubricant. Again, Takeda didn't say anything, because he was young, and it was sex, and his body responded to the treatment eagerly. Besides that, he honestly liked Black. He enjoyed the man's sense of humor, and his wit. He had a rebellious streak to match his own, and Takeda honestly enjoyed the idea that his dad, (had he ever bothered to show his face) would be fucking furious to know that he was taking dick from the insouciant man. He didn't really start to think that it could be wrong until the fifth or sixth time Erron came around.

 

Takeda refused him that time, and it hadn't gone well. Erron had covered his mouth and taken him anyways, well aware that Hanzo was just a few rooms away, and one sound from him would send him running. Takeda knew now, that he hadn't realized then, that it was certainly rape. In the back of his own mind, he enjoyed it, provoked it, and likely had it coming from indulging Erron all those times before. It took him years to realize the truth of his abuse. 

 

For years this back and forth went on. Black was seductive, handsome. Tall, dark, with an accent that made Takeda feel weak. Being with the other man made him feel like something small, delicate, something he was never allowed to be at home. It made it easy for him to forget that he was being taken advantage of.

 

Then... He met Jacqui.

 

Granted, it would be a few years before she'd even consider giving him the time of day, but he nursed that crush long and hard enough that when she finally decided to give him a chance it was like getting all his Christmas and Birthday presents all at once. She was stunning, sweet but tough. He loved how she peppered kisses across his jaw, or how she'd sneakily take his hand, when they were supposed to be concentrating on a mission. She never coerced him into doing anything he didn't want to do, and Takeda appreciated the care she took with him.

 

She meant the world to him.

 

And when Erron found about her, well, to say he was angry was an understatement.

 

That's why he Jacqui was the only person in the world he'd ever told about his abuse at the hands of Erron. He felt she needed to know, how he always felt like he had a target on his back, just waiting for the other man to strike. Jacqui was understanding, even offered to help protect him if it ever came down to it. Takeda was severely glad to have her on his side. For the first time, he had lover that he actually felt safe with, was confident in confiding in.

 

Jacqui knew about the pictures, when Black had sent them. In order to mock him or threaten him he didn't know. But it drove Takeda to the point of pure rage to see his father being used against him in such a foul manner. He swore to her then and there that he would kill Black, and avenge his father's violation. Jacqui promised she would help.

 

Together, they kept the secret of the pictures for four months.

 

Then, they were ambushed leaving an SF facility in Dakar...

 

~

 

When Takeda woke up, he noticed a few things right away. For one, his wrists were bound together above his head. Next, he realized he was laying across what felt like a table, which is probably also what his wrists were bound to. Hard wood, that wasn't terribly comfortable. His back ached and he figured that was from being strapped against it for some time. Lastly, he noted with a shiver that he was naked, as a simple cold breeze brushed against his flushed skin.

 

He opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings. He was stunned to see the face of the Virgin Mary staring back at him, eyes blank white, arms spread open in a gesture of offered warmth. If the statue didn't look like it was about to crumble into dust, at any rate. Cracks spreading across her painted cheeks made her look like her veins were standing out with some sort of sickness. One of her fingers was gone. She looked less like a saint and more like a corpse.

 

Her surroundings hadn't fared much better. Getting a look around, Takeda realized that the "table" he'd been tied to was actually the altar of an old, abandoned church. The paintings on the walls and ceiling were beginning to peel and crack. Most of the stained glass windows were broken, their shards littering the once elegant floor, which was missing tiles. At some points, he could see a brilliant night sky through the walls where the wood had rotted away. A few of the pews were still intact, but they were few and far between, and they were knocked across the church floor like some movie monster had come through and tossed them about. There were a few lit candles here and there surrounding him, offering Takeda only the barest hint of warmth.

 

He heard a dark chuckle beside him, and Takeda suddenly felt chilled straight to his bones. Turning his head, slowly, he was able to take in the sight of Erron Black, sitting, rather comfortably, in the presider's chair, one leg loosely crossed over the other, his chin resting on his hand. His hat was hanging off of the side of the chairs back. His mask hung opposite, revealing the scars that stretched across the other man's lips. Right then he was the picture of blasphemy, the devil incarnate, in a pair of brown leather boots. Dark, mysterious, enticing. It was easy for Takeda to see how he could have fallen into this man's trap before. He always knew that he had a sinner's heart, and he was weak to temptation.

 

"Sleep well, honey?" Black asked him, as the man slowly stretched out his legs, before moving to stand. Takeda said nothing, despite the feeling of his heart beat picking up in his chest. It continued to race faster as the man approached him, and he struggled, despite himself, despite not wanting to show the other man his desperate fear of him.

 

"You should have. I gave you enough of that drug to keep you under for a few days."

 

"What are you doing?" Takeda blurted out, and he was proud of himself for not letting his voice tremble. He never understood what it was about this man, how he always made him feel like a child again, like he was still 14 instead of being 23. "What have you done to the other others?"

 

"Are you really going to ask me if Jacqui's okay? Look at yourself, right now. Here I have you trussed up like a virgin sacrifice and you're worried about a girl rather than your pretty little hole." Erron replied, making his disgust obvious. "But if I've done my job right, she should be dead, along with the rest of your motley crew."

 

Takeda's heart sank at that. He couldn't help it. To think of that sweet girl, the one he'd come to love, broken and bleeding in the middle of some dead end dessert...

 

"You fucking bastard." Takeda spit out, squeezing his eyes closed as tears threatened to spring from the corner of his eyes.

 

"Ah ah ah." Erron tsked, moving to slap his palm over Takeda's mouth. "We're in a church, son. You mind yourself, the Virgin is watching."

 

All Takeda could do was glare up at him, wanting so badly to rip him apart, limb from limb. First he attacked his father, then Jacqui. How many more people would get hurt because of his past mistakes?

 

Erron gently peeled his hand back, wiping his thumb along Takeda's cheek as he did so.

 

"Forget about her."  Erron advised him, tone gentle. "Worry about yourself. And maybe your daddy, when he comes here to try and rescue you."

 

"You stay away from him." Takeda warned him. "I saw what you did to him. If you think I'm going to let you have another chance to get close to him..."

 

"From where I'm standing, it doesn't seem like you have much of a choice." Erron shrugged, gently. "Can't wait for him to show up here, that tall, proud warrior. He looks very different on his back, with his legs spread."

 

"Go fuck yourself, Black." Takeda replied again, as he continued to fight against his bonds. "If you were half the man you claimed to be you wouldn't need to be chasing children or drugging people to get your kicks."

 

"You're awfully mouthy today, aren't you?" Erron drawled, and Takeda gasped to suddenly have the man's hand wrapped around his dick. He froze, afraid that the man would hurt him, but he simply laughed instead. "Don't act like I was always so abusive to you. I remember several times when you wanted it, you calling out my name like it was a prayer."

 

Takeda but down on his lip, shaking his head. "It's not the same. I was still a kid back then... I didn't know any better."

 

"You knew enough." Erron replied, gently releasing him. Takeda took a deep, shuddering breath, his body and mind warring with each other. One part of him still responded to his touch as eagerly as he did when he was young. Another part of him reeled, disgusted at being so weak as to let this man near him, to let him use him like this. It hurt even more that he knew, deep down, that some part of him still enjoyed this treatment, and that was reflected in the begrudging way his body was beginning to respond, his slowly hardening prick.

 

He tried to think of Jacqui, tried to think of her sweet face, her dark skin, her eyes the color of warm, hot chocolate, to take his mind off of what was happening. But deep down, he knew he didn't want to associate her with this. He had to let that image go.

 

"I grew up in this town." Erron said softly, unwillingly dragging Takeda's focus back to him once more. His hands found their way back to his body, stroking Takeda's shaft distantly, as he related this story to him. There he was, lying there, at this man's mercy, and he didn't even have the decency to give him his full attention as he abused him.  "My daddy used to mine borax and silver in the hills back there." He said, pointing vaguely through one of the broken stained glass windows. "He wanted me to be a priest. He must have been so disappointed to see what his little boy turned into."

 

"Why are you telling me this?" Takeda asked softly.

 

Erron paused, seemingly to think it over for a moment. "You know." He said after a moment. "I don't know. I've never told anyone." He said. "But I like you, Takeda. Always have. Maybe I see something of me in the boy that you were..."

 

"No." Takeda cut him off right away. "Don't you dare talk like that. I am not like you, I will never be like you. And because I know you're thinking it, I don't belong to you either, never have."

 

Erron paused, turning to examine Takeda, where he still lay, trussed up and incredibly vulnerable.

 

"Now that's where you're wrong, Takeda." Erron informed him, and Takeda jumped to feel the man's hand release him and began wandering between his thighs, fingers exploring, caressing, searching out his entrance. Takeda groaned, pained, when Erron pushed in a finger, dry. His hips hitched up with surprise as he was suddenly breached, without warning. He couldn't fight it. He still loved the way the man hurt him, the way he fucked him. "You're going to live the rest of your life with the knowledge that I had you. You're never going to be able to completely wipe away my touch, no matter how many times you try. Look at how eagerly your body rises up to meet me." He said.

 

"You're always going to remember what it was like to have my hands on you, inside of you, like this."

 

Erron curled his finger up, pressing against Takeda's prostate, and it was simultaneously uncomfortable and wonderful, and his dick responded instantly, like it had been trained to. Old habits die hard, apparently.

 

"And your daddy, too." Erron continued, as he pressed that finger ever deeper inside. "I wonder, did you ever tell him what I did to him? Did he ever find out? Even passed out cold his body responded to mine. He was a natural, born to take dick, just like you."

 

"Fuck you." Takeda replied, breathless, panting, and this time he got Erron's free hand across his face for the effort. His cheek slammed hard into the altar, pulling a surprised gasp out of him.

 

"I said. For you. To watch your mouth." Erron told him, emphasizing every other word, making the threat clear. Takeda very slowly turned his face back to Erron, trying to ignore the way his head was swimming. He happened to catch a glance at the Virgin Mary once again, hovering nearby, seeming to stare down at him with her big, blank eyes. He hadn't noticed before, her gentle smile, twisting lightly upwards. It was obscene, and it made Takeda uncomfortable, and it brought him images of his own mother, watching this sickening display unfold.

 

Takeda closed his eyes.

 

He squirmed, slightly, when that finger was removed from his entrance, and replaced with a slicked, wet one. He could tell that Erron was only using his spit for lubricant, and Takeda tried not to tense, knowing that it would only make things worse.

 

Erron stretched him out, the movement jerky, sloppy. Then he pulled those fingers out of him with a soft little pop. Takeda heard nothing for a moment, but could feel the other man inching closer.

 

"Open your damn eyes." He was ordered. Takeda shook his head, softly. He could hear Erron sighing in frustration at his insolence.

 

As the man shifted closer, he could hear the sound of him adjusting his clothes, tugging them down, releasing his cock. Takeda held his breath for a moment without realizing, waiting for the inevitable.

 

Suddenly, he felt Erron's hands on his hips, and he let out a whimper when he pushed in. Despite forcing himself to relax, despite the light preparation Erron forced on him, it hurt. _It hurt_. Takeda wheezed out a gasp of pain, struggling against his bonds, no longer caring if he tore at his own wrists. He just kept pressing inside, and he felt so huge, going so deep inside of him. He didn't slow down or wait for Takeda to get a breath in. No, this wasn't for his pleasure. It was a punishment. It was meant to hurt.

 

Erron settled when he bottomed out, holding still for a few moments. Takeda bit down on the inside of his cheek, concentrating on just breathing, just trying to catch a breath as Erron held still inside of him. He felt like he was being torn apart, and Takeda had to wonder if it had always hurt like this, if his own lust disguised the pain as something wanted. Was he some kind of masochist, or was Erron doing this for kicks?

 

Suddenly, Erron began to move. His insides clutched down around Erron's length, sticking to the other man as he pulled out. His insides burned like fire with his slow exit but there was nothing Takeda could do, no way for him to escape. His stomach cramped and spasmed with the motion. He could feel Erron leaning over him, moving in close until Takeda could feel his breath glancing across his lips. The man pulled almost the entire way out before plunging back in, stabbing in deeply and Takeda reeled as he felt something tear.

 

Takeda screamed. Erron stifled it with a biting, forced kiss.

 

By the time Erron was finished, he'd managed to force a weak, pitiful orgasm out of Takeda. Their combined spend and Takeda's blood stained the altar, and left a small puddle of filth between Takeda's legs. He felt dirty, cold and used.

 

Erron hovered over him, letting his dick linger inside of Takeda for a bit, soft, but no less painful. He stayed there, milking it, as Takeda came down from the sex. Takeda was panting, hard, panicked and approaching hyperventilating. It was forcing his body to spasm and twitch, which incidentally probably made it all the better for Erron. Not that he wanted it that way, Takeda was disgusted at himself, horrified that he was able to take pleasure in his own rape.

 

When Erron pulled out Takeda tried to close his legs, to curl in on himself, but the other man wouldn't allow it. He pressed Takeda's legs open one more time, his fingers finding that brutally abused hole again and sliding deep inside.

 

Takeda actually stopped breathing for a moment, the pain was so bad. He may have blacked out, too, because when he came to Erron was at his side, looking far less disheveled and holding a syringe.

 

"Sorry to have to do this to you kid." Erron said, noticing that Takeda was awake once more. "But I need you to be a little bit less aware when for when your daddy shows up. It's nothing personal, I'd just like to know I don't have to worry about you clawing at my back when I need to concentrating on my front."

 

"Leave him alone." Takeda tried again. "Leave him alone and I'll go with you, wherever you want. You could have me whenever you wanted. I wouldn't fight."

 

"Tempting." Erron admitted. "But I already can have that. I damn well can and will take you, whenever I please, and you know that. Besides, I may have something of a score to settle with your father."

 

Takeda blinked up at the other man in confusion. "What do you mean?" He asked.

 

"It means you're taking a nap. Rest up, honey." Erron warned him. "You're going to need your strength for what I have planned for you."

 

Takeda tried to get away, but the ropes didn't give him much leverage, no room, and nothing to his advantage. Already feeling weak and tired, it wasn't much of a fight. Erron quickly overpowered him, and by the time he felt the kiss of the needle against his neck, it was already too late.

 

Takeda's eyes slid closed, and he fell into a deep sleep.

 

~

 

Hanzo glanced up when Kenshi entered the commissary. He'd felt the man's anger as he approached, a growing force that increased with each step that he took. Whether the other occupants in the room realized it or not, they all felt it too. He could tell from how jittery they had become, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, meals suddenly forgotten in their anxiety. Only Hanzo knew the reason why, and he'd been around Kenshi's moods enough that he wasn't nearly as affected by them as some of these young men and ladies.

 

As Kenshi approached the table, Hanzo pushed a paper cup filled with hot, green tea towards his hand. Kenshi picked it up as he slid into the chair opposite his lover, taking a quick sip of the drink. His motions, the way he moved was soft, graceful, at stark contrast from the emotions Hanzo was picking up from the other man. It wasn't until Kenshi placed the cup back onto the table that Hanzo caught the slight tremor in Kenshi's hand.

 

Hanzo slid his own hand across the table, covering that trembling hand with his own. Kenshi didn't shake him off, didn't scold him. He simply allowed it.

 

Kenshi needed the comfort, clearly.

 

"Have they told you yet?" Hanzo asked, as he went back to sipping his own drink. A soda, something he didn't have very often. It might have been just on the edge of too sweet for him, but he didn't want water, and it was too early to drink.

 

"A scout stopped me in the hall." Kenshi replied. "But I already knew about it, before I left the room."

 

"They think he was kidnapped." Hanzo replied. "The body that they found wasn't his after all."

 

Kenshi nodded, and with his free hand he traced the lining of the paper cup. "Whoever took him brought him back to Earthrealm. And as he hasn't been able to contact anyone, I'm assuming it's because he either cannot, or is not being allowed to." Kenshi replied. "Someone's angling for a fight, and I mean to bring it to them."

 

Hanzo frowned at that, glancing to his lover. "How do you know that?"

 

"I felt it, when he returned." Kenshi explained softly, as his hand moved from the cup to rest against his chest. "Just the same as when he was violently ripped from this realm, he was returned. I don't know where but... He's here. We can find him."

 

Hanzo nodded carefully. "A few minutes ago, Sonya mentioned a tear between the realms, briefly flaring to life in a small patch of nowhere in the west of Texas." Hanzo filled him in with what he knew.

 

"The SF is wounded right now, too spread out now to investigate it. But you and I..." Hanzo trailed off.

 

"We'll go." Kenshi agreed right away. "Odds are that's where they've taken Takeda."

 

"Odds are." Hanzo agreed, taking one last sip of his drink. "We're going to find Takeda, Kenshi, whoever did this."

 

"I already have an idea of who did this." Kenshi replied, giving a little shrug. "And when I find him, he's a dead man."

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have no idea how I'm managing to get my writings out so quickly, I don't think I've ever had a manic burst quite this productive. Yay me? 
> 
> I hope people are at least somewhat interested in this, wherever it's going, not often do you open up a new story with so and so main character could be dead. *shrug*


End file.
